In Case You Didn't Know
by purplepagoda
Summary: Nurse Mount returns to Poplar after the death of her father. It seems that something more than grief is plaguing her. Will she reveal the secret she is carrying with her, so close to her heart? Will she push away all of those who care about her in the process of trying to keep her secret?
1. Chapter 1

It has been barely a week since nurse Mount has returned to Poplar. She sits in sister Julienne's office late on evening, after her return. She stares at a random slip of paper on the sister's desk, as she sister clears her throat. Patsy is still in uniform, as she sits in sister Julienne's office. Finally sister Julienne breaks the unbearable silence.

"Nurse Mount how have you been doing since your return?"

"It has been an adjustment re-acclimating to everything, but I think I have mostly returned to my routine," she answers, refusing eye contact.

"I see," sister Julienne responds in a flat tone.

"Is there a problem?" Pasty asks in an unusually calm tone of voice.

"I have heard a few words of concern from some of the other midwives here."

"Concerns regarding the standard of my work?"

"No. Nurse Mount your work is exemplary, as always. They have voiced concern regarding your state of mind."  
Finally their eyes meet, "I am still in the grieving process, but I assure you I will be up to snuff in no time."

"I have no doubt."

"Is that all?" She questions as she begins to vacate her chair.

"I just wanted to remind you that the door is always open, if you need anything," sister Julienne reminds her.

"Okay," she rises from her seat.

"Anything at all," Julienne adds as Patsy reaches the doorway.

She heads down the hallway to her room. She quickly gathers her pajamas, and retreats to the bathroom. She succeeds in remaining stoic as she bathes. She re-emerges, and immediately retires to her room. She finds that her roommate is out for the evening. She sighs in relief as she sinks beneath her covers. Nurse Busby is out late on a delivery, which usually would be a source of dismay, but tonight all Patsy wants is a little rest.

* * *

Early the following morning sister Monica June finds herself tiptoeing through the hallway headed to the pantry for an early morning snack. She is side-tracked when she sees that the bathroom door is slightly ajar. She is immediately attracted to the light underneath the door. She stops at the door, and gently taps her knuckles against the wood.

"Are you okay in there?" She asks of the party on the other side.

"Fine," is the response she elicits, between the sound of sobbing.

"May I enter?"

"If you must," Nurse Mount responds in an exhausted state.

Sister Monica Joan enters the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She finds Patsy sitting on the floor near the bathtub. The young woman is hugging her knees to her chest. Her face is red from crying. Her hair is pulled back out of her face. Sister Monica Joan quietly moves a chair towards her. She takes a seat next to her, and gently places a hand on her shoulder.

"You do not appear to be okay," she muses gently.

"I am trying to be," Patsy answers flatly.

"What is troubling you?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Sleep can be a fickle friend."

"What are you doing awake?" Patsy questions.

"I heard the pound cake calling my name from the pantry."

Patsy nearly smirks, "I should have figured."

"Maybe I just sensed that you needed someone. If I am incorrect, as I have been known to be on a rare occasion just say the word, and I will go."

"Stay," she responds in a small voice.

"You have returned in a different state than the one in which you left."

"That is an understatement."

"You seem particularly tormented."

"You seem particularly wise at three o'clock in the morning."

"If you consult my journal, you will find that it is always when I have the most insightful ideas."

"I should go back to bed," she points out.

"Are you going to go back to sleep?"

"That is highly unlikely."

"You could share your insights with me. It is unlikely that I will have any recollection of them in the morning."

"What if you do?"

Sister Monica June grins, "I will pretend that I am senile."

"You play the part so well," Patsy agrees.

"I sense that what troubles you is more than grief."

"Grief makes people do uncharacteristically idiotic things," she comments.

"What plagues you, and deprives you of your sleep?"

"I have made a monumental mistake."

"I have made plenty of those myself," Sister Monica Joan admits, "Certainly it can't be that bad."

"I don't want to hurt all of the people that I care about, but I fear that it is far too late to prevent that now."

"Based on what?"

"I have done something that I cannot take back. I don't know that I am going to do."

Sister Monica Joan falls silent. She locks eyes with the redheaded midwife who sits on the bathroom floor. She studies her facial expression, and her body language. Though she is getting on in years her assessment skills remain intact.

"For what you hide in your soul is revealed in your eyes. In due time the truth has no choice but to surface. Faith is what allows us to endure painful and obvious truths. Your pain makes you feel alone."

"I feel so very alone," Patsy admits.

"I am here, and so is He."

"My faith is not as unwavering as yours is."

"A little faith goes a long way nurse Mount. You can borrow some of mine if you need to."

"What if faith is not enough?"

"Faith, hope, and love are the things that we need to sustain us. As well as the delightful earthly pleasure that is referred to as cake."

Sister Monica Joan pulls a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her night gown. She wipes the tears from Patsy's face.

"I will keep your secret. It is safe with me. The only things I cannot be trusted with are confectionery goods. Just remember that secrets have expiration dates."


	2. Chapter 2

A week turns into weeks. Weeks evolve into a month. In the blink of an eye a month has passed since Patsy's return to Poplar. Her friends continually voice concern over her state of well-being. All assume that it is related to her state of grief. The more they try to draw her out, the further from them she retreats. She in uncharacteristically quiet. She doesn't quip cheeky remarks, at the dinner table. She refuses to socialize with her fellow nurse's. She is barely able to utter a couple of words to Delia. The pain consumes her, and she refuses to share her plight with anyone. She throws herself deeper, and deeper into her work.

One night when she returns home from a particularly difficult day she finds sister Julienne waiting on the stairs for her. She glances at her watch, and realizes that it is well after midnight. She holds tightly to her bag, and attempts to avoid sister Julienne's glance. Sister Julienne is in her nightly attire.

"Have a seat," she says quietly.

Patsy slips the hat off her head.

"Nurse Mount I am greatly concerned about you."

"This is how I deal with things. I need to continue my work."  
"You are barely sleeping. You run out of here without eating breakfast. You can't keep doing this."

"I am fine."

"You are quite clearly not fine."

"I will be. I just need some more time," Patsy pleads.

"Nurse Mount I do not take you for a weak individual."

"Thank you."

"That is why I am so concerned about you. It is very obvious to me that you are not okay."

"Can we discuss this later? I am very tired."

"I imagine that you are, but this cannot wait."  
"Please," Patsy pleads.

"I want to make myself very clear. I will not allow this to continue. I feel personally responsible for the health, and well-being of all of the people under this roof. I will not allow you to work yourself into a state of exhaustion, and a deeper state of depression. I am taking you off the roster tomorrow."

"But…"

"That is a final decision. You may be living in denial, but I am not. I do not know the details of what went on while you were away, but to say the least you have returned changed. It is not healthy to continue on the path that you are on. You can't sleep a couple hours a night, and skip meals, and expect to be running on a full tank."

"Is my work suffering?"

"No. That is not the point that I am trying to make here."

"Can I please go to bed?"

"I need five more minutes of your time. Let's go into my office."

"Fine," she submits begrudgingly.

As Patsy enters sister Julienne's office, the door is closed behind her. She finds that one of the chairs has been turned away from the desk. Sister Julienne extends her hand.

"Have a seat, please," she insists.

"If you are going to lecture me, it is not necessary. I will do better…"

Sister Julienne cuts her off, "Patsy, I am not here to lecture you. Do you think that I am a foolish woman?"

"No, ma'am," she squints trying to understand where Sister Julienne is coming from, "I appreciate your skill, and experience."

"I do not need to know all of the details of your absence."

"You previously mentioned that."

"At some point others are going to ask for them," she adds.

"What makes you say that?"

"Some details are impossible to ignore."

Patsy furrows her brow, "I'm not sure what you're referring to," she answers as her heart races.

"Stop, Nurse Mount. It is very apparent to me that you are hiding something. I find that my observational skills make it painstakingly obvious to me what you are trying to hide."  
Her heart skips a beat. For a moment she wonders if the scrupulous nun is bluffing. She swallows hard, and fails to muster a response.

Sister Julienne momentarily turns her back on Patsy. She reaches into a cabinet, and removes an object. She turns to face the nurse, and places the object on the desk. Patsy suddenly feels claustrophobic as she stares at the Pinard Horn.

"When I said that you could come to me about anything I meant that. I had hoped you would come to me."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Patsy answers, "I'll be honest, it is all I can do most days to muster up the strength to make it to the end of the day. I find it incredibly difficult to…" she trails off.

"I'm listening."

"I have gotten myself into quite a disastrous mess. I don't know what to do. I am terrified. I kept hoping that this was all some sort of misconception on my part. On the other hand, I acted so carelessly, I am not sure how I really expected any other outcome. I kept hoping that I was wrong. I guess denial is a river that rans rather deeply," she trails off as tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

"This doesn't go away," Sister Julienne points out

"I am well aware of that."

"What do you plan to do?"

"I can't do this. I wouldn't even begin to know how to do this on my own."

"You are not alone," Sister Julienne reminds her, as she takes a seat next to her.

"Shortly after I arrived my father grew even sicker. He quickly slipped into a state of unconsciousness, which he never returned from. I was angry. I was hurt, and I didn't know what to do. One evening we received an unexpected visitor. It was the son of one of my father's former business associates. He had heard my father had fallen ill, and he came to lend support. I was in a particularly poor state of mind that evening. I hadn't been sleeping much at all. When he arrived I felt incredibly relieved, and overwhelmed all at the same time. He lent some source of familiarity, and comfort to the day. We sat down and had dinner. Dinner turned into drinks. Somehow we ended up polishing off a bottle of forty year old scotch. I pride myself on being a reasonable, level-headed human being. My poor judgement on that particular evening is particularly upsetting. I had hoped that my lack of good judgement would be a brief indiscretion that I would soon forget about. After a couple of days he had to return home. I didn't even know how to begin to explain any of this to myself, or anyone else. I have been so afraid to admit any of this to even myself, because it feels as if it is happening to someone else. I have worked so hard to get where I am. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to explain to anyone what a fool I have been. I know that this will only hurt the people that I care about the most. That is the last thing that I want," the tears stream down her face steadily, now.


	3. Chapter 3

Sister Julienne hands Patsy a handkerchief, and squeezes her hand.

"I am not here to judge you," Sister Julienne reminds her, in a soft tone of voice.

"I keep asking myself why this has happened to me. I keep praying that I find an answer, but I fear that there simply isn't one."

"There is always an answer. Sometimes it just isn't the answer we are prepared to hear. Other times it is simply not the answer we were hoping to hear."

"I am so, sorry. I have let you down."

"You haven't let me down."

"Yes, I have. I have let everyone down. I can barely say two words to anyone. I am so afraid that if I do I will just break down. We both know that I am not an overly emotional person. I feel incredibly emotional, and weak right now. It is terrifying to feel this vulnerable."

"The two are not synonymous. I have never known you to be weak."

"Is this where you tell me that you are going to have to relieve me of my duties?"

Sister Julienne furrows her brow, "What would make you think that?"

"This is obviously a very poor reflection on my character."

"I am not going to relieve you of your duties. I was going to ask approximately how long ago this dinner was, so I could determine whether or not my tools would be of any use."

"Based on my experience plenty of time has elapsed."

* * *

That night as Patsy lies in bed, she considers what to make of her earlier interaction with sister Julienne. She wonders what to say when the others ask why she has been taken off rotation for a day. She shifts beneath her covers, and eventually falls into a peaceful deep sleep, the first she has achieved in many months. When she awakens she finds the sun streaming into her window. She rolls onto her side, and finds that her roommate has already vacated the room. She slowly collects her belongings, and begins her morning routine. Eventually she makes her way to the kitchen, and finds Sister Monica Joan reading the newspaper, and sipping a cup of tea. She takes a seat next to her, after retrieving some crackers out of the cupboard. She pours herself a cup of tea, and sips it slowly.

"I was thrilled not to pass you as a ship in the night, last eve."

"I was exhausted, and after a long chat with sister Julienne I found myself slightly at ease."

"Did you tell her?"

"I didn't have to. Apparently, it was not news to her."

"Do you feel any sense of relief?"

"Slightly. Instead of feeling as if I am carrying a mountain, it feels as if I am only carrying an elephant."

"Did you know that the period of gestation for an elephant can be eighteen to twenty two months?"

"Luckily for all of us the period of gestation for human babies is much shorter."

"This is not a secret you can keep much longer," Sister Monica Joan comments at she studies Patsy.

She exhales, "I know that."

"May I ask why you are struggling with this development so much?"

She shrugs, "There are approximately a million reasons."

"What about the top two, or three?"

"This is not something I ever anticipated, or really wanted."

"I see. Do you still feel that way?"

She sinks into the seat next to the elderly sister, "Almost all of the time."

"It is easy to be terrified of the unknown. I can certainly empathize with that. Each day I wake up wondering if today is the day I forget where the bathroom is."

"You never seem to worry about forgetting where the cake is."

Sister Monica Joan grins, "Some things are deeply ingrained into my memory."

"I don't know how to go about telling people."

"You fear their judgment?"

"Among other things. I don't want to hurt them. Sometimes I think that it may be easier, but I often find myself at a loss for words. This is not a situation that I have any experience with on a personal level."

"I find that two opinions are better than one, especially if one of them is mine," Sister Monica Joan begins.

"Go on."

"When you are ready to speak of things that you hold close to your heart, chose to tell just one person. It only takes a second of bravery."

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

"I find that the truth tends to be a good starting point."

"Says the woman who continues to remove poison, so we will continue to have rats, so she can blame them for missing cake."

"I fear I do not know what you are referring to."

"I am struggling, because I don't know how to explain something to people I care about, when I cannot even explain it to myself. There are so many questions that I cannot answer."

"Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark," Sister Monica Joan quotes.

"I am not as well versed in scripture as you are," Patsy reminds her.

"That isn't a scripture. It is a quote from a poet," Sister Monica Joan rolls her eyes.

* * *

Later that evening Patsy has just settled into bed, and is reading a gossip rag, in an attempt to distract herself from reality. The room is barely illuminated by the lamp near her bed. The door opens, and her roommate enters the room, in her pajamas. Trixie closes the door behind her, and takes as seat on the edge of her bed. For several moments she stares at Patsy in utter silence. Patsy is reading a magazine, with her covers tucked under her arms, as she leans against the headboard. Feeling prying eyes on her, she stops reading, and makes eye contact with Trixie.

"I am nearly done if you want to catch up on your reading."

"Patsy, we have been roommates for some time."

"We have."


	4. Chapter 4

"Since your return to Poplar you have been isolative, and distant," Trixie points out.

"Just grieving, I suppose," Patsy attempts to brush off Trixie's comment. She clenches her jaw, in an effort to maintain her stoic appearance.

"That is certainly what I thought at first glance," Trixie admits.

Patsy furrows her brow, "What do you mean?"

"While somethings remain unspoken, I feel as if I cannot keep this to myself."

"Keep what to yourself?" Her heart skips a beat.

"I am worried about you."

"I will be fine," she lies.

"What if you are not?"

Patsy falls silent, as she attempts to process the thought.

"None of us here are dupes. While I can admit all of us at some point, or another, have acted foolishly, none of us are fools."

"Trixie, if you have something to say just spit it out."

"How long are you going to keep up this charade?"

Patsy does not respond. Her insides churn in silence.

"How long are you going to pretend that there is no elephant in the room? I share a room with you. You sleep a few mere feet away from me. Do you think I haven't noticed the subtle, and not so subtle details? Your attempts to pretend you acquired new uniforms, because yours were worn out. Tip toeing out of the room to go to the lavatory in the wee hours of the morning. I do not ask questions about your personal life, but it is evident to me that something life changing happened while you were gone, and you are really struggling."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to admit to what has obviously thrown quite a wrench in things."

"I am not ready," she pauses, "for everyone to know."

"We are the only two people in this room," Trixie points out, "Whatever you say does not leave this room. I can certainly appreciate the delicate nature of the situation."

She purses her lips, as her hand comes to rest on top of her covers, at her abdomen. She inhales deeply, and her nostrils flare. Finally she meets Trixie's gaze once again.

"It seems as if I am not alone."

"No one is alone," Trixie calls her out.

"What I am trying to say is that apparently, I find myself in the family way," she explains, feeling a hint of relief.

Trixie nods, "How long were you planning on keeping that a secret, exactly?"

"As long as humanly possible," she breathes a sigh of relief.

"How long have you been keeping this secret?"

"Months," she answers flatly.

"How many months? You returned nearly three months ago."

"It happened a few months before I returned."

"What are you going to do?"

Patsy falls silent. Trixie vacates her seat, and takes a seat on Patsy's bed, next to her. Before Patsy can respond her tear ducts have betrayed her. Trixie hugs her to her side.

"It is going to be okay," she muses.

"It is most certainly not okay. None of this is okay," Patsy argues, "I made a colossal mistake, and I can't take it back. I can't fix it, and I most certainly cannot erase it."

"What about the other party involved? Did you tell him?"

"He is unreachable."

"Unreachable?"

"I have no way to get a hold of him."

"Do you have an address, or a phone number?"

"It wouldn't matter if I did," she responds.

"Why not?"

"He is unreachable."

"Unreachable? I still do not understand what you mean by that. Is he travelling abroad?"

"As far abroad as you can get."

Trixie furrows her brow, "What do you mean?"

"He cannot be contacted by anyone. A couple of weeks before my father died I received word that he had been in a car accident, and succumbed to his injuries."

Trixie's hand claps over her own mouth, "I am so sorry."

"It wasn't as if I was in love with him. He was a childhood friend. When he came to visit my father I was filled with a sense of ease, maybe even a sense of nostalgia. I allowed myself to be swept up in a swirl of emotions and alcohol, and now here I am."

"I understand."

"I don't know what I am supposed to say, or do. All I know is that I can't stop what is going to happen next, and it terrifies me."

"Let me ask you, if this gentleman were still around, would you reach out to him? Would you pursue something further?"

"I suppose I would have considered telling him. I guess that he had a right to know. I don't feel that an unplanned pregnancy is a reason to tie yourself to someone legally for the rest of your life, especially if you don't have those kind of feelings towards them. It isn't fair to make all parties involved miserable."

"I don't disagree."

"This is not something that I ever anticipated."

"Is it something that you want?"

"Not particularly," she admits, as her cheeks grow red with shame.

Trixie pats her hand, "It is okay to admit that. It is okay to feel that way. What is your plan? You can't keep this to yourself forever."

"I feel terrible, because I…" she trails off.

"It isn't something that you want to do?"

"Precisely."

"No one is saying that you have to."

"There is no getting out of it, at least in part."

"After the inevitable separation there is nothing saying you have to continue on the typical path."

"What kind of person am I, if I don't?"

"The kind who doesn't make a child feel like a burden their entire life. Look, I can't tell you what to do. I just know that resentment grows deep dysfunction is bound to follow."

"Sometimes I think that it would have been easier, if I had never come back."

"If you feel that way, then why did you come back?"

She swallows hard, "Everything I have is here. Everyone I care about is here," she chooses her words wisely.

"So let us help you."

"This is not your burden to carry."

"You do not have to do this alone."

"You are not the only one who knows. Others have noticed."

"What others?"

"The first to notice was someone who is particularly fond of pastries."

Trixie grins, "She does have the most experience in such matters."

"Sister Julienne very politely suggested that I not take on as many extra duties as I had been."

"That is wise. I want you to know, that when the time comes, I will be right here."


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks, and months pass, far more quickly than Patsy is prepared for. Each day she finds that she has to grow more creative in hiding the problem that she carries so close to her heart. The time comes, and the time goes, and Sister Julienne subtly ensures that Nurse Mount only attends clinic duties, and is not on call. They cite muscles spasms, which Patsy feels to only be a slight stretch of the truth. Late one evening Patsy finds herself alone in her room.

It is a full moon, and every other nurse at Nonnatus is out attending to deliveries. Patsy glances out the window at the full moon, and wishes that she could be of assistance. She rolls over, and attempts to elicit rest. She is restless, but manages to succumb to sleep less than an hour later. She has barely entered REM sleep, when she is rudely awakened. She reaches over, and turns on the lamp. She is gripped by violent, painful contractions. As she manages to shift into a sitting position she realizes she is drenched in sweat. She pulls back the covers, and inches to the edge of the bed. She clenches her fist, as the contraction takes over. After the contraction passes, she rises to her feet, hoping to find Trixie.

She looks over, and finds Trixie's bed empty. By her estimation, she has had eight extra days to prepare for this event. She slowly makes her way across the bedroom. She manages to make it into the hallway before another contraction. Her contractions seem to be rapid, and relentless. She is unable to keep silent. She lets out a scream, which she is unable to stifle. She expects lights to flip on, and feet to pad down the hallway. Nothing happens. She inches her way towards the next bedroom. She finds it empty. Eventually she manages to reach Sister Julienne's room. Much to her dismay, it too is empty. Another contraction leads to another shriek. She feels short of breath, and chest tightening as she considers the possibility that she is all alone. As she leans against a doorway, trying to regulate her breathing, she hears footsteps. She looks up, and finds Sister Monica Joan.

"It looks as if it is just the two of us."

"Can you call Shelagh? I…" she is overcome by another contraction.

"I think you should allow me to examine you first. I might be rusty, but assessment has always been my strongest skill."

She nods reluctantly. Eventually the pair of them make it back to Patsy's room. Patsy points to the closet. Sister Monica Joan removes Patsy's bag, and a birthing pack. Once the rubber sheet is in place, Patsy is able to lie down.

"Something is wrong!" Patsy insists, "This is happening too fast."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"It shouldn't be happening this fast!" She repeats.

"Let me have a look," Sister Monica Joan insists as she dons a pair of sterile gloves.

"I was having very light contractions earlier today, but I have been having those for weeks. I didn't think twice."

Sister Monica Joan falls silent as she checks dilation. She keeps her opinion to herself, but her eyes widen.

"Sister Monica Joan?" Patsy grits her teeth.

"I am going to go call for back up. Okay?"

"Do you have time to call for back up?"

"Whatever you do, do not push."

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing," she lies.

"Please don't leave," Patsy begs, feeling terrified.

"We need someone who isn't as rusty."

"I can practically do it myself," Patsy argues.

"No, we are going to need more hands."

"More hands? Why? What is wrong?"

"I am going to call Dr. Turner's house."

"Why? Sister Monica Joan what is wrong? Just tell me?"

"The presenting part is not a head."

"A foot? Two feet?"

She shakes her head, "Unfortunately, no."

"Unfortunately? What is the presenting part?"

"It appears the baby is in a frank breech position."

"I feel a lot of pain, and a lot of pressure."

"Just breathe. Do not push. I will go down, and phone for help."

"I don't think this baby is going to wait for help."

"It has been ages since I have done what needs to be done. I may not be successful."

"Please try," she begs.

"I think it unwise," she argues.

Patsy starts crying hysterically as she writhes in pain, and sweat drips down her face. Sister Monica Joan re-assesses the situation. She realizes that the situation requires immediate attention, or both mother, and baby are in serious jeopardy.

"This is going to be very painful."

"Just do it!" Patsy screams.

She reaches inside, and applies enough gentle pressure to get the baby into the proper position. Patsy grips the sides of her mattress as Sister Monica Joan performs external cephalic version. She screams in agony, as the elderly sister performs the procedure. When she is done she reassess, and determines that the maneuver has been successful.

"I want to push."

Sister Monica Joan nods, "On the next contraction."

Down several flights of stairs, Delia enters Nonnatus house. She places her coat on a hook, and begins her ascent up the stairs. Her first thought is to get a warm bath to scrub the film of the day from her skin. She has hit step number two when she hears a blood curdling scream. She races up the stairs, immediately moving toward the only source of light. She stops in the doorway, frozen by the scene that is unfolding before her. Sister Monica Joan does not make eye contact, as she is occupied delivering a head. After a moment of shock, instinct kicks in. Delia reaches into her bag, and pulls out a fresh pair of gloves. By the time she reaches the bed, the baby's head has been delivered. Without a word she reaches down, and untwists the cord that is snaked around the infant's neck. With another push shoulders, and a body follow the head. She reaches for a towel, and carefully stimulates the infant. After a few seconds the grey newborn shifts into a pink color. The pink evolves to red, as the room is filled with a shrill cry.


	6. Chapter 6

Sister Monica Joan attends to the baby as Delia proceeds to deliver the placenta. Sister Monica Joan briefly looks over at Delia, and finds that she is in blood up to her elbows. All of the color has suddenly drained from Patsy's face. Patsy remains eerily silent Sister Monica Joan acts quickly, and secures the newborn in the empty cardboard box that had contained the contents of the birthing kit, that now rests at the foot of bed.

"She's hemorrhaging," Delia say, stating the obvious.

"I'll go call the ambulance to take her to the hospital."

By the time sister Monica Joan hangs up the phone Sister Julienne is walking in the door. She notices that Sister Monica Joan is in her night attire, and covered in bodily fluids.

"I just phoned the ambulance. Nurse Busby is going to need assistance."

Without a second thought nurse Julienne races up the stairs, she skips every other step as she goes. She has fresh gloves on before she even enters the room. She quickly assesses the situation.

"Sister Monica Joan was the only one here when she went into labor. The baby was in a frank breech position, and she had to perform external cephalic version. The baby had the cord wrapped around his neck three times. I delivered the placenta, and she started hemorrhaging."

"I'll attend to her, you attend to the baby."

Delia nods, and peels off her gloves.

As Patsy is being transferred into the ambulance, Trixie arrives home. She notes the horrified looks on her cohort's faces. Delia clings to a newborn baby as they load Patsy into the ambulance. Inside Sister Julienne attends to Sister Monica Joan.

"I'll take the baby, you go with her," Trixie insists.

Delia nods, and Trixie slips the baby out of her arms. Patsy, and Delia leave in the ambulance. Trixie heads inside. She makes her way to her room. She stops in the doorway, aghast. There is blood throughout much of the room.

"What happened?" Trixie queries.

"He presented frank breech."

"Oh no."

"None of us were home."

"Where is Sister Monica Joan?"

"In the bath, cleaning all of the bodily fluids off herself. She was the only one here, and didn't have time to phone for help."

"Did she perform external cephalic version?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that it caused Patsy to hemorrhage?"

"Not necessarily. He weighed in at nine pounds fifteen ounces."

"Yikes."

Trixie clings to the newborn, as sister Julienne strips the bed. By the time the bed has been stripped, Sister Monica Joan returns. She wears a fresh night gown, and her fingers are slightly prune-y.

"I can take him," she asserts.

Trixie nods, and relinquishes the hefty baby boy.

"I'll help sister Julienne clean up this mess."

Sister Monica Joan falls silent as she looks at the state of disarray.

"I should have waited," she says solemnly, her head hanging.

Trixie shakes her head, "If you had it is quite possible neither one of them would be here with us right now."

"What if I caused this?" She responds.

"No one thinks that. Your instinct took over," Sister Julienne points out.

"I think that Chummy left Freddie's basinet here when they left. I will go retrieve it, and then we can tackle this mess."

"Why don't you set it up in my room, for now?" Sister Julienne responds.

"I will see to him," Sister Monica Joan insists.

Sister Julienne nods subtly, "For now."

* * *

Hours later Trixie's room has been clean, and Patsy's bed remains bare. Trixie climbs into bed, to catch a few winks before her shift with the newborn. Sister Julienne tiptoes down the hall after her bath. She stops in the doorway of Sister Monica Joan's room. The door is slightly ajar, and she listens in.

Sister Monica Joan sits at the edge of her bed, with the chubby newborn secure in her arms.

"I am not sure that your mother was prepared for such a dramatic entrance. I certainly was not either. I am uncertain of your fate, but I think you should know I am very fond of you, Solomon."

Sister Julienne pushes the door open, "The two of you should get some rest."

"We were getting there. He has just finished getting his belly full."

"You cannot name him," Sister Julienne points out.

"I will refer him to Solomon, until something better is brought to the table."

"It is not your place to name him. I think you should allow me to take him, so you can get some rest. You had a very eventful night."

"It is nearly daybreak, and I am too alert to sleep."

"At least put him in the basinet," Sister Julienne implores her.

"If you insist," she responds, begrudgingly.

"If you wake, and he is not there do not be alarmed, it simply means one of us is attending to him."

"I may be old, but I am not incapable of caring for another human being. I have done it all my life. Allow me this one thing."

* * *

Sometime after sunrise Delia finds herself being awakened to the sound of someone coughing violently. She sits in a chair, next to Patsy's bed. She looks over at her, and observes her coughing. Her eyes open, and she looks around the room in a panic. Her breathing quickly becomes more rapid, and less regulated.

"It's okay. Everything is okay. Try to take a couple slow, deep breaths," Delia reassures her.

She turns, and makes eye contact with Delia. Her heart sinks. She takes a deep breath, and takes in her surroundings. She realizes that she is in the hospital. As she returns to reality she feels a lot of searing pain. Her hand quickly flutters to her abdomen. She instantly realizes that her womb is empty. Only one question weighs on her mind, but she is afraid to ask. She is uncertain of the outcome. She dreads to hear the status of her newborn baby.

"Pats?" The sound of Delia's voices jars her into reality.

She elicits no response, as Patsy's mind has already begun to wander. She reaches out, and gently touches her arm. "Patsy?"

"Hmm?" She turns her head, and briefly makes eye contact.

"You look troubled," Delia observes.

"My baby?" She questions in an unusually quiet tone, as she is certain her heart will beat out of her chest.

"By all reports he is doing fine."


	7. Chapter 7

Her eyes widen, as she makes eye contact with Delia. Her thoughts are racing, and she isn't sure what to say, or ask next. For the first time she has a sudden overwhelming realization that the secret she held so close for so many months now lives outside her body. Her typically stoic face twists, and contorts as tears slide from her eyes down her cheeks. She quickly wipes them away, not wanting to show weakness.

She looks up, and sees the look on Delia's face. Delia stares back at her, and wears a look of confusion, concern, and betrayal. Patsy wants to explain, but all she can think about is the tiny human recently removed from her body.

"Are you sure that everything is okay?"

"He is perfectly fine. He is at Nonnatus, and Sister Monica Joan will not let him out of her sight, from what I hear."

"He?"

"Definitely a he," Delia nods in confirmation.

"How did I end up here?" She questions, feeling disoriented.

"You started to hemorrhage, and lost consciousness."

"Oh," her heart sinks yet again.

"The bleeding had nearly stopped by the time that you reached the hospital."

"I…" she trails off.

"They did an exam. They were concerned that your uterus may have ruptured."

"Oh, I see," suddenly she finds herself wondering if all of her vital organs are still intact.

"Since the bleeding stopped, they came to the conclusion that it did not. They opted not to do surgery. You did require some suturing, from the extensive tearing, though. There is still some concern that your uterus may still rupture."

"When can I go home?"

"They want to monitor you for a while, but it sounded as if the doctor would be agreeable to releasing you tomorrow, if there were no further complications."

"I am sorry."

"We will discuss it later," Delia suggests, "You need to rest now." The look on her face suggests to Patsy that it is not a subject she is ready to tackle.

Patsy doesn't respond. She simply wears a weary look on her face.

"I can telephone Nonnatus, and see if they can bring him here, if you want."

* * *

The following morning she pretends not to be writhing in pain as the doctor signs her discharge order. Delia helps her into a wheelchair. The car ride home is bumpy, and mostly silent. When they arrive at Nonnatus house Delia helps her inside. She leads her into the sitting room, where they find Sister Monica Joan contently holding the newborn baby. Patsy sinks into an armchair.

"I have to go to clinic. I am going to leave you in Sister Monica Joan's capable hands. Trixie is here for the time being, she hasn't been called out yet."

"Okay," Patsy nods.

Delia leaves the room, and Sister Monica Joan vacates her seat on the couch. She crosses the room, and stops a few paces away from Patsy.

"Would you like to get acquainted?"

"I would like nothing more," she says on the verge of tears.

Sister Monica Joan grins widely, as she places the newborn into Patsy's waiting arms.

"It is my pleasure to present your son."

"My son," she whispers.

Patsy hesitantly receives the newborn into her arms. Monica Joan leans in close, studying nurse Mount's facial expression.

"Would you like some time alone, or would you prefer for me to stay?"

"Can you stay nearby?" She responds, her voice shaking.

"A little birdie told me that there is cobbler in the kitchen."

For several moments after Sister Monica Joan leaves the room Patsy focuses straight in front of her. She doesn't shift her glance to the chunky infant lying in her arms. She feels movement, and casts her glance in a downward direction. She is met by a pair of slate colored eyes. The quiet baby stares up at her, as if they are old acquaintances. She swallows hard, as he stares up at her. She exhales, and slowly begins to examine him, something she did not get the opportunity to do before losing consciousness, and being whisked away to the hospital.

He wears a knitted cap on his head, which is mint green in color. His eyes are currently blue. His cheeks are full, and he has a dimpled chin. He is wrapped in a white blanket. One hand finds its way towards his mouth. She quickly counts his fingers as he proceeds to insert two of them into his mouth. She remains silent as she carefully unwraps him. She finds that he is wearing a gown. She quickly counts the fingers on his other hand. She gently retracts the bottom of the gown and counts his tiny toes. He begins to whimper as she touches his feet. She pulls the gown down to cover him. She shifts in the chair, and places him in her lap. Finally she breaks her silence.

"I am very certain that I am not any good at this. I haven't the slightest idea what I am doing," She explains, as tears trail down her cheeks. She slips the green knitted cap off his head, and discovers a thick layer of dishwater colored hair. She runs her fingers through his hair. After a few moments she replaces his cap, and wraps him in his blanket. She stares at him, uncertain what to do next. She feels a swirl of emotions as she looks at him. Mostly she feels uncertain. Their peaceful moment is soon interrupted by the sound of him crying. The vein in his forehead pulsates as he cries. His face grows red as he grows louder.

Within a few moments Sister Monica Joan re-enters the room from the kitchen. She stops at the armchair, and finds that both mother, and baby are crying. She has a cloth napkin in her hand, from her cobbler eating escapades. She hands it to Patsy. Patsy takes the napkin, but does not make eye contact. She simply stares at the wailing infant.

"I'm sorry," she tells him.

"I can take him," Sister Monica Joan volunteers, reminding Patsy, that she is still a capable human being.

"I…" Pasty begins with a hint of panic in her voice.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Sister Monica Joan says gently reassures her.

"How do you know? What if the thought of having me as a mother is just too overwhelming for him?"

Sister Monica Joan points to the clock on the wall, "Because it is simply time for him to eat. He is hungry. You have done nothing wrong."

She nods, and she repositions the baby. He screams louder.

"I will go prepare a bottle. Can you hold him until I return? Rest assured that Nurse Julienne does not trust my eyes anymore, and has already measured out the powered milk for me."

"Ok."


	8. Chapter 8

Sister Monica Joan once again tries to leave the room. After a few seconds Patsy allows instinct to take over, in place of fear. She unwraps the infant, and repositions him. He snuggles against her chest, as if he is listening to her beating heart. He calms down, but continues to whimper. She pats him gently as she waits for Sister Monica Joan to return. Moments later she enters the room with a warm bottle of powdered milk. She takes a seat on the coffee table near Nurse Mount.

"If this is too much for you, I understand. I know that there is concern that I am growing senile in my old age, but some things, do not elude me. I can do this. Sister Julienne has protested, but eventually relented to my assistance. I can take him if you would like to go upstairs, and lie down for a while."

"Thank you," she answers.

Sister Monica Joan vacates her seat. She stops next to Nurse Mount, and reaches for the infant.

Patsy shakes her head, as she clings to the boy. "Thank you for making sure that he was okay."

"It was my pleasure."

"Thank you for not judging me," she continues as the tears stream down her face.

"That is not my job. May I make an observation?"

"Yes," she nods.

"It is okay to be scared. It is okay to do whatever you feel is best for him. None of us can make that decision, but you. Life is rarely filled with easy journeys that are obstacle free."

She grows quiet for a few moments, "How will I know what the right thing is?"

"Because it is what you already feel in your heart."

* * *

An hour later Trixie tiptoes towards a ringing phone. She grabs her belongings, and heads towards the door. Before she opens it, she decides to check in on Patsy. As she heads towards the parlor she finds Sister Monica Joan sitting in an armchair, knitting. She looks up, and presses her index finger to her lips. Trixie enters the room, and finds Patsy lying on the couch, asleep, with the baby asleep on her chest.

"How are we faring in here?"

"Both have had quite a journey thus far, and require adequate rest."

"I am going out on a delivery, Sister Julienne will be checking in around lunch time. If you need anything call the clinic."

"I will hold the fort down," Sister Monica Joan agrees.

Shortly after Trixie leaves Patsy wakes up. She carefully shifts into a sitting position on the couch, as she holds onto her son.

"Am I just being selfish?" She questions, as she looks at Sister Monica Joan.

"Selfish? I am not certain I understand."

"Is it selfish of me to sentence him to a life without a father?"

"Is that what you desire?"

"I want him to have a father, but…"

"I find nothing selfish about wanting to be a mother, Patience."

"I never had any inclination that I would want this."

"What is your inclination now?"

"I am not entirely sure how I am ever going to let him out of my sight ever again."

Sister Monica Joan smiles, "It will come with time."

Patsy notes the booties that Sister Monica Joan is knitting, "Did you make him the cap as well?"

"I hope it is okay. I feared he would grow cold in this drafty air."

"I have a feeling that the two of you are going to be very close, so it is quite alright with me."

"I have to admit I am quite fond of the cheeky young fellow."

"Cheeky?" Patsy queries.

"He is cheeky, I suspect he gets it from you."

"He can't talk."

"However, he manages to say plenty."

"I suppose that we should come up with something to call him," Nurse Mount adds.

"What do you fancy?"

"I have heard that someone has been referring to him as Solomon."

"I know of no such information," Sister Monica Joan insists.

"Sister, you do realize that you are the only reason that either one of us are here right now, don't you? You acted quickly, and skillfully, and you saved our lives."

"You nearly lost yours, because of me."

Patsy shakes her head, "No. That was not because of you. I have a feeling that it had more to do with my body's ability to successfully expel a rather large newborn. I don't even know how big he was."

Sister Monica Joan's eyes sparkle as she recalls the details, "Four thousand five hundred, and twenty grams. He entered the world at twelve thirty seven."

"Why did you start calling him Solomon?"

"I have been calling him Solomon for months, this is just the first that you are hearing of it," Sister Monica Joan admits.

"You had no way of knowing that he was indeed, a he, and not a she."

"I just had a strong inclination," Sister Monica Joan answers.

"Based on what?"

"Intuition."

"Why have you been calling him Solomon?" Patsy queries.

"I just felt a great sense of peace when I first learned about him. One day when I was in prayer the name came to me as if in response."

"I am not sure that anything I could come up with would be as significant. Anything else would pale in comparison. Also, now that I have met him, I can't picture him as anyone else."

"Then he shall stay Solomon," she grins from ear to ear.

"My Solomon," Patsy smiles for the first time in many months.


	9. Chapter 9

Patsy has just managed to get Solomon settled in his basinet when there is a knock at the door. She is still in immense pain, as she sits on the edge of her bed.

"Come in."

The door opens, and Delia appears in the doorway. Patsy motions for her to come in. She takes a seat on the edge of Trixie's bed. It is nearly time for supper, but Trixie hasn't returned home yet. Delia stares at Patsy in silence, uncertain where to begin.

"I realize that I have made quite a mess of things," Patsy begins.

"When you came home you said that you came home because you wanted to be here, with me," Delia recalls.

"I did."

"And you proceeded to push me as far away as you could in the proceeding months."

"I am incredibly sorry that I hurt you."

"You grew more, and more distant, and isolative, and I thought that it may have been because you were grieving, at least at first. Then I considered that it was something I had done. My mind ran through a million different scenarios. I wondered if you had found someone else. Pats, I don't know how to make sense of any of this. I can't say as I understand any of this."

"I don't understand most of it myself."

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I was fairly certain that the truth would be more hurtful, and damaging than the omission."

"What was your plan, exactly? Did you think that we wouldn't notice when you suddenly had a baby?"

"I thought that I could keep it mostly confidential."

Delia furrows her brow, "In what world?"

"I had every intention of parting ways with him, after birth."

"Oh, I see."

"I did not anticipate, or plan any of this. I allowed myself to become so consumed by my own thoughts, and feelings that I couldn't handle the thought of anymore disappointments."

"Anymore disappointments? You think that he is a disappointment?"

"I certainly did feel that way at one point, or another. I feel as if I disappointed myself, throughout most of this situation from conception, until now. I never had a desire to be someone's mother."

"How did this happen? How did we get here?"

"I left, and for quite some time I felt very alone, while I was gone. One day a childhood friend came along to visit. There is really no excuse for my behavior."

"I am just trying to understand how this happened," Delia points out.

"He was familiar, and I didn't feel so alone. It was comforting to have him around. We laughed, like old times. We ate, and commiserated, and drank. I drank far more than I typically do, which is no excuse for the event that happened that led to this. I know that it was the ultimate betrayal. That is why I didn't want to tell you."

"Do you love him?"

She shakes her head, "Delia I never loved him. It had nothing to do with that. I allowed my grief, and alcohol to cloud my judgement in a way that I am quite ashamed of, for many reasons."

"Did you tell him?"

"No. It took me far longer than it should have to even admit to myself. I can't count the number of unplanned babies I have ushered into this world. I can't count the number of times I have wondered why women didn't just abstain from activities that would end in an unplanned pregnancy. It is really easy to judge someone when you haven't been in their shoes. This has been a struggle for me. I wanted to tell you. I didn't want to make this your burden, especially when I had not planned on keeping him."

"What happens if this childhood friend shows up on our doorstep?"

"That isn't going to happen."

"He could come for a visit."

"He was in a fatal car accident shortly before my father died."

"Oh," Delia's heart sinks.

"I don't know where we go from here. I will understand if this is more than you can cope with. I am struggling with it myself. I am trying to figure out how to explain to people I care about that I am a midwife with the education to know how to prevent an unplanned pregnancy, and yet I now have a son out of wedlock. It isn't as if I can lock him away, and hide him from the world. I am still processing all of this myself."

"I am upset. I feel a lot of things, but mostly I feel hurt that you felt like you couldn't come to me."

"I am immeasurably sorry."

"You look tired, you should get some rest," Delia suggests.

"I have napped throughout the day. Supper will be ready soon."

"Are you okay?"

"I will be."

"Is he okay?"

"He is absolutely perfect. He is far more… he is just more than I ever pictured."

Delia vacates her seat on Trixie's bed. She tiptoes across the room, and stops next to the young lad's basinet. He sleeps very peacefully in his bed.

"Do you have the heart to talk Sister Monica Joan out of the name Solomon?" Delia queries.

"She saved his life there is no way on Earth that I could change his name."

"I won't argue with that."

"Thank you," Patsy adds, "For saving my life."

"I wish I had been better prepared, maybe then you wouldn't have lost consciousness, or had to go to the hospital. I wish that you had told me. I am not pretending that I understand what happened, but I would like to think that you could confide in me in a time of crisis."

"I am so sorry."

"I am going to go wash up before dinner. Will I see you there?"

"Probably not. We are both rather exhausted."


	10. Chapter 10

Trixie enters the room, and finds Patsy sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the bassinet near her bed. Trixie quietly closes the door behind her. Without a word she makes her way over to Patsy. She takes a seat next to her on the bed. She smiles at her.

"What's on your mind?" She asks softly.

"It occurs to me that I have mostly no idea what I am doing," she answers with tears welling up in her eyes, as she feels particularly overwhelmed.

"Does that mean that you have decided that you are doing this?" Trixie questions, gently.

"Yes, it does," she grins, briefly.

"You look utterly terrified."

"What if I am not cut out for this?"

"I suspect that you feel that way simply because it is an endeavor in which you learn as you go, which can be challenging, and quite scary."

She shrugs subtly, "Maybe."

"I have never seen you so uncertain of yourself."

"I just don't want to bugger this up."

"You won't."

"You don't know that. A child, especially a boy needs a father, and I can't provide him with one. It isn't fair to him, and I am not sure that I can ever make up for that."

"You will just have to be both parents."

"How am I supposed to do all of this on my own? I can't even fathom going back to work right now. Who would take care of him while I'm gone? What happens if he gets sick, and I am unreachable? What if he needs me, and I am not there?"

"You are not alone," Trixie reminds her, "We are all here for you."

"This isn't anyone's responsibility but mine."

"It takes a community, Patsy. None of us are going to jump ship because you suddenly have this dashing young fellow. You have to go into this knowing that you are going to need help, and that is perfectly okay."

"You should head down stairs, or there won't be any cobbler left by the time you get there."

"Dinner can wait. Aren't you coming down?"

"I can't hear him all the way down there."

"You could just bring him with you."

"I'll just stay up here, it is fine. I don't want to ruin everyone's evening with a wailing baby."

"I think you should join us. He seems perfectly content right now. I think everyone would like to meet him. I am not certain that Sister Monica Joan can keep him a secret much longer."

"Have you seen her with him? Her eyes light up every time she sees him," Patsy admits.

"It is quite lovely to see her so bright."

Patsy nods. Trixie silently watches her body language. After a few moments she makes a determination.

"You are still in a lot of pain, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," she lies as her body finds that is unable to relax between her uneasiness of being a new mother, and uterine involution.

"You are not fine," Trixie vacates her seat on the bed. She walks over to the bassinet, and scoops Solomon up.

"Where are you going?"

"We are going to dinner. You don't have to join us, we will be content either way. You can come down and eat, or stay up here and rest. I think that both options are suitable. When was the last time that you ate?"

"Breakfast, I think."

"We will be downstairs, if you decide to join us. Is it okay that I take him with me?"

She exhales, "Yes."

Trixie has made it to the bottom of the stairs, before she realizes that Patsy is reasonably close behind her. They quietly make their way into the dining room. Trixie waits outside of the dining room, for Patsy to catch up. Once she does they enter the room full of chatting nurses, and midwives. The crowd falls silent. Trixie takes a seat, remaining unfazed.

Phyllis speaks up, "We were wondering if you were going to join us."

"You have missed a few meals," Barbara adds.

Patsy takes a seat near the middle of the table, as it is the only vacant chair left, "It seems as if I have been otherwise occupied."

"We should eat before our food grows cold," Sister Julienne suggests, trying to alleviate the pressure.

All eyes remain on Patsy. Of the group of women there is not a fool in the bunch. Everyone has deductive reasoning skills, and is able to add two and two together.

"Wait," Patsy begins, "I would like to confess that I have obviously been keeping a rather large secret from all of you. I am aware some of you already knew. I am certain that some of you knew, and didn't say anything. For your support I want to say that I am very thankful. I also want to apologize for any deceit on my part, as I know it has hurt some of the people that I care so much about. Lastly, I would simply like to introduce," she stretches her hand outward, and points to the baby in Trixie's arms, who is seated next to her, "my…" she pauses stumbling on the word, "son," she exhales.

Barbara chimes in, "What is his name?"

"Solomon," she announces.

After a few minutes dishes are passed around the table, and everyone digs into their food. They talk about their days, but no one prods. Everyone shows respect, and allows for Patsy to offer information as she feels comfortable. She finds that her appetite is still impaired by her pain level. She makes a concerted effort to eat as much as she can tolerate. The room slowly clears as everyone removes their dishes, and disperses for the evening. Trixie waits by her side, patiently.

"I can take him," she insists.

Trixie places the baby in her arms, and clears Patsy's place. The only people left in the room are Solomon, Patsy, and Sister Julienne. Sister Julienne rises from her chair, and makes her way to Patsy. She situates herself in the chair next to her. She grins.

"May I?"

Patsy nods, and carefully passes the newborn boy off to Sister Julienne.

"You have determined that he is a keeper?" She asks softly.

"Yes."

"You're certain?"

"Yes. If you are going to dismiss me I would prefer that you do it now, so that I can find other arrangements, and employment."

Sister Julienne furrows her brow, "Dismiss you? Why would I dismiss you?"

"I know the church's positions, and…"

Sister Julienne cuts her off, "That is not my position, Nurse Mount."

"It's not?"

"While I do have certain beliefs, I am perfectly aware that they can be somewhat idealistic, and not every situation is ideal. We are all human, and we do not always use our best judgement all of the time. As nurses, and midwives we would be remiss not to support you."

"I am sorry for the inconvenience that I have caused."


	11. Chapter 11

Patsy is lying in her bed, on her right side, underneath her covers, in her pajamas. She stares at the basinet less than three feet away, as her son sleeps soundly inside. She listens to the sound of him breathing rhythmically, in, and out. She hears her own heart beating in her ears. She craves the feeling of joy. The joy she so desperately craves refuses to envelope her. She does her best to ignore the empty, incongruent feeling that nags at her.

The creaking of an opening door jolts her from her state of reflection. She rolls onto her opposite side. Trixie enters the room, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't wake you."

Patsy furrows her brow, "It isn't even nine o'clock."

"Yes, but you have had a very long day."

"I wasn't asleep. I was just lying over here, watching him obsessively."

"That isn't healthy, you know."

"What if he stops breathing, or…"

Trixie cuts her off, "Stop. You will drive yourself mad."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."  
"Do you think that everyone knew?"

"No."

"What made you suspect?"

"Are you going to throw something at me if I simply say observation?"

"Yes. That is not enough detail."

"I suspected something was awry when every time I would offer you a light you politely declined, and gave me some line about trying to quit."

"Smoking is not a healthy habit."

"Which has never stopped any of us, before."

"This is true. Go on."

"Then when we had a celebration for someone's birthday I remember you turning your nose up at cake. None of us ever refuse cake, unless it's lent, and even then it is unlikely. At the same bash someone offered you champagne, which you took, but never drank. I saw you pour it out later. Things started adding up. Also, I share a room with you, which probably made it more obvious for me. I noticed that you had gotten new uniforms. I would hear you get up in the wee hours of the morning. One particular morning I happened to need the loo myself, and I could hear you retching. I wanted to say something then, but I knew you weren't ready to discuss it."

"I am still not sure that I am ready to discuss it."

"You do realize that eventually he is going to ask you questions, right?"

"I dread the day."

"How long was it before you realized?"

"How long was it before I made the realization, or how long before I admitted the truth to myself?"

Trixie shrugs, "Either."

"I noticed the symptoms after five or six weeks. I tried to ignore them for quite some time. I kept rationalizing all of the signs. I had missed several menses before I admitted to myself that I was pregnant. I kept hoping that it was just a fluke. At first I convinced myself it was because that I was under a significant deal of stress. Somewhere around the time that I started to have to obtain new uniforms I realized that it was really happening, and I couldn't stop it."

"You stopped smoking, and drinking cold turkey?"

"After the night which he was conceived I told myself that I was going to have to stay away from alcohol for a while, due to my poor judgement. While I was gone I stayed at my father's bedside most of the time, so I didn't often venture out. Shortly after I came to the realization that I was likely pregnant I had run out, so I just decided to stop, at least in the short term."

"I don't know if anyone has told you, but you are very brave."

"I don't feel brave. I feel vulnerable."

"I think that is normal, especially in light of recent events. His birth was rather traumatic for the pair of you, from my understanding."

"After my mother, and my sister died I put up a wall. I never wanted to feel that much pain again. I am certain that it hardened my heart. I was afraid to ever feel that way about someone again. When I woke up in that hospital bed, all I could think was that I hoped he was okay. I didn't even get a good look at him, before I lost consciousness. All of a sudden I felt as if my heart was beating outside of my body, and it was terrifying. I didn't realize that it was possible to love someone so much in an instant."

"You should get some rest. I imagine that he will be awake again shortly."

"I feel as if he has eaten fifteen times today," she admits.

The following day at clinic Sister Julienne finds herself uncharacteristically tired. Shelagh is helping her gather supplies, when she notes the dark circles under her eyes.

"You look tired today."

Her exhaustion leads to a slip of the tongue, "I suppose I am. I did not sleep well last night. The baby was awake several times during the night."

Shelagh furrows her brow in confusion, "What baby?"

"Solomon," Sister Julienne admits.

"Solomon? As in King Solomon? Sister, I have to admit I am not entirely sure that I am following," she purses her lips.

"We have had a recent addition at Nonnatus house," Sister Julienne admits.

"Did that little Ruby Madison sucker you into one of her kittens?"

"Hardly. I am referring to a human baby."

"A human baby? I feel that I am missing a vital piece information. If I am understanding your summary correctly, you are telling me that a human baby was recently added to Nonnatus house."

"Yes," she nods, "That is what I am saying."

"Someone dropped off a baby?"

"No one dropped him off."

Barbara interrupts them, "Sister Julienne until Nurse Mount returns to the roster we are one nurse short."

"I will join the ranks at twelve o'clock," she confirms.

"I am off to deliver the Gregory baby," she nods in understanding.

Several moments pass after Barbara's departure before the silence is broken.

"Does Nurse Mount's release from the roster have anything to do with the human baby to which you are referring?"

"It has everything to do with her release from the roster."


End file.
